


Clean Shirt, New Shoes

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Series: Punchy Fight Wives [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Boot Worship, Bootblacking, Clothing Kink, F/F, Frottage, Light Dom/sub, Service Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 03:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6736294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A nice dinner date followed by a thorough boot-cleaning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean Shirt, New Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to the [Fallout Kink Meme](http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/6855.html?thread=19347655#t19347655).

Veronica tucks a cloth bandanna into the front of Cait’s suit, folding it crisp over the wing tips and lapels and laughing as Cait tucks a napkin into Veronica’s dress. Cait’s ulterior motive quickly reveals itself as she cups Veronica’s breast, thumb tracing down the swell of her cleavage below the neckline. Her pads still callused, but nails filed smooth for the occasion.

“Cait, we are in public!” Veronica giggles, plucking her girlfriend’s wrist and dropping it to the table. Her blush is lost beneath the red-lit bulbs strong overhead as she fingers the small compass strung around her neck. She adjusts a frayed plastic flower behind one ear, the petals tacky beneath her fingers. At least the white blossom is still mostly intact, making a brilliant starburst effect against her dark hair.

Cait snickers, hailing Takahashi with a wave of her hand. “Oy, Takahashi-san! Two bowls of noodles!” Already swiping hot sauce from an unattended seat next to her. She turns her attention back to Veronica, saying, “Sorry about the Taphouse ‘bot being such a righteous shit.” Overdressed from their aborted date at the Colonial Taphouse, Cait still wears a clean black suit, and kicks the heels of her brogue boots over the rungs of her rickety stool.

Veronica shrugs, rolling her eyes. “Not your fault they want to turn away good caps.” Overdressed as they are for Takahashi’s noodle stand, she’d still rather worry about splashing noodles all over her pretty dress than about some snooty butler-bot’s cutting words and the disapproving looks from the Upper Stands’ residents.

But Takahashi’s noodles make up for that. Unfamiliar spice profile, salty and savory and a metallic after-tang that makes her suspect prewar seasoning. Cait splashes a dose of hot sauce into her own bowl, and Veronica follows suit. Mixes it in with a fork, starts twirling up noodles and slurping them with gusto.

The pepper sauce soon makes her eyes water, sputtering and lunging for a cold beer as Cait laughs, pounding her back. Bitter malt washes away some of the burn, still singes her nostrils and makes her a little light-headed. Drips snot, which Cait wipes away with a chuckle. Still a spatter of broth over her breasts, above the napkin tucked in her neckline.

“Not too much, yeah?” Cait asks, rubbing Veronica’s back. Rough palm over the bare skin of Veronica’s upper back, mound of her hand tracing over the edge of Veronica’s dress.

“No, ‘sreally good. Wow,” Veronica wheezes. “Just went down the wrong tube.”

Cait snorts, slapping Veronica’s shoulder. “Liar.” She leans to nuzzle at Veronica’s neckline, licking up the spilled broth over Veronica’s token protests.

The overhead lights catch Cait’s hair, making it flare red against the dark. And if they look a little silly in their bibbed finery, well, at least they’re together. Memories worth any mountain of caps.

Cait up-ends her bowl, gulping the last of the broth. Wipes her mouth with the bandanna before crumpling it-- only taking enough care that the wet portions stay inside-- before shoving it in one pocket. Veronica takes a few tentative sips of her broth before crinkling her nose, sliding it over to Cait with a long scrape against the table. Cait finishes the rest and Veronica wipes her lips, kissing the corner of Cait’s mouth before folding the napkin into squares and tucking it into her purse.

“Thanks, Takahashi,” Cait says, slapping the counter as she slides to her feet. She offers her arm to Veronica as Veronica hops down from her stool.

Veronica leans heavily onto Cait-- more heavily than needed, really, but loves the excuse to bury her cheek against Cait’s shoulder. Still the harsh after-smell of Abraxo, barely noticeable beneath the spice-and-noodles on her breath. And when Veronica fingers the notch in Cait’s lapels, Cait chuckles.

“Thought you said we were in public, love.” Her breath stirs the fine hairs on Veronica’s neck, boots thumping the wooden walkway with her long-legged swagger.

“Yeah, but we’re gonna be in _private_ soon,” Veronica murmurs, swaying to bump her hip into Cait’s thigh. A tease, promise and invitation as she trails her hand down Cait’s shoulder and the curve of bicep.

“Fine by me,” Cait says. Grins, eyeteeth sharp and glinting. “Your tits look fantastic in that dress, you know.”

Veronica bats her lashes, covering her mouth with exaggerated modesty. “Aw, you sweet-talker.”

“Mhm,” Cait says, kissing the top of Veronica’s head as they amble their way to the Home Plate. With the Minutemen General out of town, she’s left the key in Cait’s safe-keeping-- along with a reminder to wash the sheets after they’re done. She pulls it from her suit pocket, taking two stabs at the door before it clicks. To be fair, Veronica’s doing her own share of distracting, with her elbows braced about her breasts and squeezing to amplify her cleavage.

They stumble in with a laugh, Cait clicking the lights on as Veronica shuts the door. Another turn of the lock and Cait falls heavy into an armchair, pulling at the laces on her boots.

“No, wait. Let me do that for you,” Veronica says. She kicks off her shoes, kneeling by Cait’s feet. Skirt tight against her buttocks as she does so, well aware the position lets Cait look down her neckline. She cups Cait’s heel with one hand, fingers splayed over the tip of the boot. She traces a finger over the ornamental leather, studying the smudges on the glossy black leather. “Could use a cleaning.”

“Are you offering, then?”

Veronica pinks, biting her lower lip and ducking her head. “Um. I could, if you want?”

Cait’s grin broadens, skin about her eyes crinkling. “Yeah, I think I want.” She lifts her foot from Veronica’s hands, leaning back and crossing her ankles with an exaggerated sigh. “I think you should take off your dress though. Don’t want to risk me stomping over that pretty thing.”

“Is that how we’re playing, then?” Veronica teases, rising to her feet and turning to face the wall. She sits in Cait’s lap, tilting her head forward. Legs falling to the side, Cait’s thighs warm against hers even through all their muffling layers.

Cait braces one hand on Veronica’s back, humming noncommittal agreement. Pinches the fabric as she pulls the zipper in one long, slow motion.

The sound sends electric tingles down Veronica’s neck as the hiss of cool air hits her flesh, nipples peaking beneath the strapless bra. Cait gently pushes her to standing, cupping her ass and giving one last pat as Veronica slithers herself out of the dress. She drapes it over another chair, turning back to face Cait with a smile. She’d been expecting the evening to go this way, eventually-- maybe not the particulars, but she found the closest she could get to matching for black panties and a bra. Plain panties and a fraying lace bra, nothing like the faded prewar catalogues-- but special, a touch of finery. The little luxuries that make life worth living.

The floor’s hard and cold beneath her toes, but Cait drops a cushion to the ground. “Care kit’s by the door. Then kneel and take a look at me boots, yeah?” Cait says, ruffling her hair back with one hand.

Veronica stoops to grab the kit and sinks to her knees, cushion squishy beneath her shins and her heels digging into her butt. Again, she takes Cait’s boot-- and takes the time to look, to _really_ look. Cait loves her boots so much it only seems fair to love them in return, to marvel over the liquid shine of the high-gloss finish and the intricate stitching. Lets her finger trace the whorled lines and ornamental punches of the brogueing, an electric whisper of sensation that makes her shiver. And thick as the soles are, the leather’s thinner over the tongue and instep. Pressing her thumbs, it feels both incredibly intimate and remote-- a massage where Veronica never gets to touch skin, can only fantasize about the warmth of the body beneath the leather.

Cait rolls her ankle, setting her toes on the inner flesh of Veronica’s forearm. Heel hovering above the wrist, the weight of her shadow making Veronica’s pulse quicken. “If you really want to do this right, you better take off the laces so you can scrub it all down,” Cait says. Almost lazy in her direction, head flopped back so Veronica only catches a glimmer of her eyes.

“Well, what’s the point in doing it if I can’t do it right?” Veronica says, daring to grin. Averts her eyes in token humility as she draws back the laces through their holes. Slow and cautious, careful not to catch the metal aglet as she undoes the lacing.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” Cait chuckles. Voice warm and drowsy, and Veronica’d think she was falling asleep if it weren’t for the fact Cait snores in her sleep. No snoring; no sleeping.

The quiet is its own sort of torment, the laces slithering across her palm as she undoes them, then neatly folds the laces in on themselves and sets them aside. Those laces could work so well as an impromptu tie; little thin, but even the cruel bite of them on flesh could be nice. Or as an impromptu lash, the aglets stinging skin.

“Are you wet already?” Cait asks. Eyes still closed, face soft in contrast to the sharp lines of her suit.

Veronica giggles, squeezing her thighs together to feel the heat puddle in her groin. “Little bit, yeah.”

Cait smiles, a small, warm thing, like dawn creeping across the grass. “What about this turns you on?”

Veronica tugs the tongue straight, considering her answer. “The service? I like being helpful.” She clicks the care kit open, pressing her thumb on the latch. She’d normally brush the boot first, but for the itty-bit of walking they did around Diamond City, it seems excessive. So she pulls out a soft square of cloth, sets it over her thigh and squirts with water. Not too much-- just enough to dampen the cloth. Even if she’s never cared for Cait’s boots before, Veronica’s handled her own enough times to know how she likes to work. “I like taking care of you, and it’s nice knowing it’s something I don’t _have_ to do, but you’re choosing to _let_ me do it.” She dabs it against the leather soap, enough to form a thin lather before wiping small circles over Cait’s leather. Small stains and dirt lifting as she travels over the curves of the boot. Toes to heel, twisting herself so Cait need not extend her leg. A little bit of contortion, her cheek firm against Cait’s leg, cloth warm against her skin as she cleans the heel. Even the small ache in her thighs is worth it for this feeling of utter _service_ , fitting herself to Cait’s needs and with her knee scraping into the edge of the chair.

Sensual magic, to feel the glide of cloth grow smooth as she works the lather, wiping it off with another damp cloth and finishing dry. She takes extra time over the tongue of the boot, wiping the inside clean and letting her fingers stray to touch the coarseness of Cait’s socks.

“Not ‘til you’re done, darlin’,” Cait murmurs, lifting her heel from Veronica’s thigh. She picks up her other foot, setting it firm so her toes dig into the meat of Veronica’s leg. Dimples the flesh, and Veronica catches her breath in her throat. Chuckling, Cait adds, “Don’t worry, you’re doing a fine job of it.”

Veronica undoes the laces, pulling them free and gulping as Cait takes the lace from her hand.

Cait leans forward with a grin, stroking Veronica’s hair with a rough palm, tucking her fingers behind the shell of the ear and scratching. Veronica melts into it with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut and soaking in Cait’s crooning praise. “Such a good girl. Doing a real nice job, just figure you’ll look right pretty with this around your neck.” As if she’d read Veronica’s mind, she loops the cord around Veronica’s neck-- crosses the strands loose in front of Veronica’s throat, tying a loose bow. Little friction of the cords bumping against her compass, the aglets clicking against the glass cover. “Just for now. Pretty tie for a pretty girl,” Cait says, leaning back again. Wriggles her toes in the boots, a tiny jump of pressure against Veronica’s skin. “Keep on cleaning, now.”

Veronica takes another clean rag, dampens it and slicks it over the soap. Continues lathering and wiping, hands falling into soothing monotony as she focuses on Cait’s reactions. Because Cait makes a picture in her suit, the fitted waist emphasizing the taper of her shoulders, the crisp lapels a sharp contrast to her ragged hair. Cait’s powerfully built, true, but now she looks _powerful_ , sitting above Veronica. Looming even taller than usual as Veronica kneels before her. Like supplication, not mere service.

When she finishes, she sets the used rags aside. Her own fingers tinged brown, she wipes them on the last cloth.

“I’m ready to polish your boots,” Veronica says. Surprised at how warm and firm she sounds, instead of the squeak she was expecting.

Cait nods, hair falling forward. “Get to it, then.”

Veronica looks up, pleading permission with her hands at Cait’s cuffs. Cait nods, and Veronica rolls the trousers up Cait’s calf, clear of the boot. Veronica moistens another cloth, sweat prickling down the back of her neck. Takes a dab of shoe polish-- a small amount, small circles. Like a return to training, except with a gorgeous woman sitting above her. Close enough Veronica could bury her face in Cait’s thighs, could haul herself limp over Cait’s lap-- but that’s later, that’s pleasure. This is _service_ , even if there is pleasure in it. Heart pounding, whiff of polish heady in her nostrils as she takes another dab. Works to coat the entire shoe-- not quite careful enough, the polish-cloth smudging her wrist to leave a dark stain.

“That’ll make a nice reminder for you,” Cait murmurs, smiling soft. Gentle even, for all her hard edges-- like leather, Veronica can’t help thinking. Rough, dirty, hard-wearing, but still capable of being so soft and supple when properly cared for.

Veronica nods, daring to press dry lips to Cait’s shin. Goes back with another dab of polish, taking extra care on the seams to the sole. Then to the other boot, repeating the process with care. A sort of grace to the movements, peace through repetition.

Veronica ends with another swipe of polish on her finger, index blackened. Much as she wipes, she can’t get it off.

“Reckon the polish on the first one’s dry yet?” Cait asks.

Veronica eyes the boot, gaze flicking to a clock hanging lopsided on the wall. “A few more minutes? I don’t know if there’s anything else you want me to do while that dries…”

Cait smirks, eyes gleaming dark and dangerous. “I got a few ideas for a pretty girl. Stand up for me now, face the wall.”

Veronica rises to her feet, wincing at the ache in her knees. Had been lost enough in the cleaning that she had ignored the small ache, the creak of joints. But even that is an easy pain to ignore as she obeys, turning on her toes. Cait’s warm fingers unhook the back of her bra, tugging the garment free. When Veronica turns back, she sees Cait has draped it over the back of the armchair.

“God above but I love your tits,” Cait says. Widens her grin. “So if I ask you, would you stand there like a good girl?”

“Oh _yes_ ,” Veronica whispers, hoarse with want.

If Cait’s smile got any bigger, she’d swallow her ears. “Hands loose, let me do what I want?”

“Oh yes.”

Cait tilts her head, a shadow of doubt in her eyes. “I mean it though. I’m not playing any ‘no means yes’ kinda shit. If you want me to stop, tell me ‘no’ and I’ll stop it. No questions asked.” Hands clenching the armchair, knuckles white and jutting.

“I know that, Cait,” Veronica says, raising her chin. No challenge, but assurance. Flexes her shoulders-- same muscles that can punch a yao guai into next week, same arms that can haul barrels of scrap around the workshop. “I love you. I trust you. And if I ask you to stop, you’ll stop.”

“That’s right.” And like that, the shadow passes. Cait leans forward, boots flat on the ground as she raises her hands to Veronica’s breasts. Cups them, greedy and seeking, squeezing her fingers around the soft mounds of flesh and grinding her palm into the nipples.

Veronica gulps, hands clenched and arms dangling. Harder to resist the urge to respond as Cait grips harder, gouges her fingers into the flesh and pulls. A painful lift from the ribs, trickling to a lighter pinch as Cait releases, focuses on one breast. Tweaking and teasing, pinching the hard nub between two fingers, rolling to make it stand firm.

“Tell me how wet you are for me,” Cait murmurs, breath ghosting over Veronica’s skin.

Veronica gulps, struggling to gather her words. “Very. You’re so amazing, you know that? Standing like this, knowing you want me-- that’s good. So good.” Tickles her throat like fizzy wine, like soda bubbles. “You are so great, and I get to _touch_ you, be touched by you.” Keening as Cait butts her head into her, hair tickling down the slope of Veronica’s breast as Cait wraps her mouth around the nipple, suckling with a hint of pressure from her teeth. Cait’s other hand squeezes Veronica’s breast, a gentle heft, thumb pressed to her sternum. “And you are great. Absolutely great. Makes my clit tingle, feels like I’m in a dream.” Hisses through her teeth as Cait lashes her tongue against Veronica’s breast, as Cait pinches her nipple hard between thumb and forefinger. “Except it’s not a dream, because you’re _pinching_ me so I know I’m awake.”

Cait ducks her head, chuckling. Breath warm on Veronica’s nipple. “Well, always glad to pinch you if you need it.”

Veronica laces her fingers behind her back, jutting her chest forward. Not bothering to bite her lip, no attempt to restrain her whimper as Cait twists. Different sort of torment, just as sweet-- before she was being _of_ use, kneeling to clean Cait’s boot, but now she is being _used_. Body played like an instrument, a tool for Cait’s pleasure, Cait’s curiosity. A taut stretch of skin before Cait releases, soothing the tormented nipple with another kiss, another lick and warm strokes of her tongue that fail to completely wash away the pain.

“I think I’d like to mark you a bit,” Cait murmurs, cupping both hands around one breast. “Mind if I bite?”

“Go ahead,” whispers Veronica, a strangled whimper in her throat. Her mouth waters, alive with spice. Some sort of crossed nerve making her lips pucker, her tongue burn. Or maybe just everything gone sensitive, jolting her tastebuds. Easier when she breathes through her mouth, a shuddering gasp on the inhale, longer release on the exhale.

Cait bares her teeth in an exaggerated grin. Squeezes Veronica’s breast, rubbing her thumb along the dark areola. Lifting her up like a perfect target as she rubs her nose against the nipple, sets her teeth on the soft flesh on the outer slope of the breast. Not quite over the heart, but close enough to flare Veronica’s romantic instincts as her heartbeat picks up, blood singing in her ears. Cait sucks hard, lips wet. Bruising skin, blood to the surface and Veronica melts forward. Veronica unlaces her fingers, gripping her wrist now to will herself still as Cait presses her teeth, _bites_ sharp and quick, probes her tongue through the lingering dents as Veronica quivers.

“Look like a bloomin’ rose,” Cait says, soft and reverential. “Gorgeous is what you are.” Tilts her head, and Veronica peeks down. Red flush of skin with tooth marks-- yes, she can see the resemblance, the lines of teeth like layered petals. Cait tilts her head, approaches from another angle-- another sharp little bite, rotating a slow circle of bites, all different sizes and staggering them to complete the picture. Finishes with a kiss at the center. “All mine.”

“All yours,” Veronica agrees, relaxing her hands. Peeks down at Cait’s face, admiring the shadows of her lashes, the freckles dancing constellation across her cheeks. There is worship in this, to be loved by someone so beloved in turn. “I think your boots are ready for buffing, if you are…?”

“Your knees doing okay?” Cait asks.

Veronica nods, shifting back into position at Cait’s feet. Takes out the shoe brush, working off the excess polish. The soft rustle-scrape of the brush fills the room, quiet as it is. Not even a hint of outside radio or chatter, suspended in this small space. Just the two of them, a world to themselves. One boot, then the other, resting them on her thigh and savoring the press, the hint of weight as Cait bears down. Shoe polish has its own sort of smell, hardwired to something ruggedly prewar. Same sort of charm as a pretty dress, even if Veronica prefers her lace and bows over leather boots.

Now for Veronica’s favorite part, getting a soft cloth to buff the boots. She sits back, legs crossed for comfort. Panties soaked, grinding into the cushion as she rubs tiny circles all over the polish, taking care to focus on the toes and heel. The most striking parts of the shoe, the areas most likely to catch light. Areas most likely to be worshiped, should Cait have a mood and Veronica be lucky enough to kneel before her like this. Veronica lets her mind slip loose and free, meditation in motion. Working from her shoulder, more easily sustained than jerking the muscles of her forearm. Quiet space, deep space. Soft friction of the polish in her hand, the gentle chafe as she shifts forward, bare thighs pressing into her cushion. Goosebumps over her skin, unclothed in this chill room, but easily ignored. More important to keep serving Cait.

Loses track of time, slippery-smooth in that quiet space. Only knows it must be ten minutes, probably more because it takes at least that long to get a good shine, to get it gleaming.

“Is this good?” Veronica asks, setting down her rag. Lifts Cait’s foot under the heel and toe, propping so Cait can examine.

Cait makes a show of studying the boot, and nods. “Did a real good job there, love. Lace me up and do the other side, now.”

Veronica picks up the shoelace from the floor, pressing the tip through the eyelets and tugging until even. Laces Cait up, slow and cautious. Careful to keep the tension even, testing each crossed section with an experimental tug. Finishes by tying into a bow, kissing Cait’s knee.

Cait chuckles, lifting her foot and setting it on Veronica’s shoulder. Presses the insole to Veronica’s cheek, tilting to make Veronica turn her head. “Good girl.”

“Thank you, Cait,” Veronica says. Smiles, soppy as a sunrise, and brushes the other foot. Nostrils filled with the scent of polish, the warm leather and skin and cloth all faint beneath it. Sets the brush down, buffs. Not a mirror-shine, no-- would require more coats of polish than Cait would have the patience for. Silly bit of luxury in the wasteland, too.

(No sillier than dresses, but oh, Veronica would polish those boots with spit and love, work them mirror-bright if that was what Cait wanted.)

Veronica unties the lace around her neck, threads it through and does up the last boot. Ties the knot firm, kisses Cait’s knee.

“What a good girl you are,” Cait says, propping her toe beneath Veronica’s chin, lifting to make her meet Cait’s gaze. “I figure you’ve earned a bit of fun.” Eyes glint as she wriggles her shoulders into the back of the chair, seat creaking as she slides forward. “Can polish me boots with your pretty black panties, riding up on me.”

“Oh! Can I?” Veronica gasps, eyes wide.

Cait snorts. “Wouldn’t have said it if you couldn’t, would I?” Sets her feet down with a heavy thump, patting her thigh. Toes angled up, heel wedged to the floor. “Come on, now.”

Veronica straddles Cait’s foot, knees clamped close, just above Cait’s ankle. Spills herself forward, chin over Cait’s knee and one hand gripping the armchair, the other on Cait’s thigh, elbows braced wide. And god, oh god but it feels good to grind against Cait’s boot, to feel the rough friction of the laces against her panties. Almost too much for her swollen clit. She buries her face against Cait’s slacks, whimpers through the warmth of skin and cloth. Wants, wants wants wants, grinding forward with increasing urgency, desperation. The bite-marks on her breast throb raw, red. Heat prickles through her, a gush of wet and Cait grips her hair, nails slicing soft against her scalp, and Veronica cries, cries, relief and want and sobbing and tears dripping down her cheeks as she _comes_ with a final wail.

“Come on up in my lap now,” Cait murmurs, leaning forward. Hands hooked under Veronica’s armpits, lifting her to a sideways sprawl with her head against Cait’s shoulder, Veronica’s legs dangling over the armrest. Kisses her sweet and gentle, all pastel softness after that chaotic burst. “You did good, real good. So good, my love.”

“I was really wet,” Veronica says, small and shaky. Clit still throbbing, lungs still rattling her chest. So vivid, so alive in that moment-- everything else is a little death, a tiny pang of loss after that transcendence. “Might have to do your boots again.”

“Screw it, can wait.” Cait kisses her cheek, her neck. Nuzzles behind the hollow of her ear, flicks her tongue to taste Veronica’s drying sweat. “Want the radio or anything?”

“No, just keep holding me.”

So Cait does, rocking. Arms thick with muscle, all warm reassurance. Rubs small circles on Veronica’s back, patient as if shining Veronica herself.

When Veronica finds her tongue again, she asks, “Do you want me to go down on you? Or--”

“Nah, I’m feeling real good right here. You ready for bed?”

Loose-limbed and dizzy, like floating in her skin. Barely inhabiting her own blood, could be swept under its tidal current. “Yeah, but the kit still needs to be picked up--” she begins, the trivial bobbing to the surface.

Cait shakes her head, bumping her nose against Veronica’s cheek. “Can wait for the morning. Everything else can wait. Let’s just tuck you in.” She scoops her arm under Veronica’s legs, rising and cradling the other woman as she makes her way to the stairs.

“No, not up the stairs!” Veronica protests, pushing her palm against Cait’s shoulder.

Cait snorts, shaking her head. “Hauled drunks outta the Combat Zone. As long as you don’t wriggle, you’ll be fine,” she says, thumping their way to the loft. Sets Veronica on the bed, gentle as a dream, and sits beside her so the mattress creaks.

Veronica wriggles back onto a pillow, head propped to watch Cait strip. 

Cait undresses piece by piece, as meticulous with her suit as she is with her shotgun. Unbuttons her shirt going down, working each button completely through its buttonhole before going to the next. Unlaces her boots and sets them aside, pulls down her trousers and folds it neatly over the back of a chair before setting her suit jacket over it. Last, she shrugs out of her white shirt, sets a few of the buttons in place and lays it flat on the bed to fold it into a square. Sets it on the seat of the chair and slips into bed next to Veronica.

Veronica lifts her head, nestled onto Cait’s arm. Kisses Cait’s ear, murmuring, “Thank you for the date.”

“Glad you liked,” Cait says, yawning. “Sorry ‘bout the shitheads at the Taphouse. Can always go back and burn it down.”

“No, got a better idea-- can go back and reprogram Wellingham. Reset his group identification protocols, see how they like it when he starts addressing them as ‘rabble.’”

“Well, shit,” Cait laughs, free and clear. “I like it.” Kissing Veronica’s shoulder, she murmurs, “Might let you clean my combat boots for reward.”

And that promise of a next time seals the deal.


End file.
